


on the shores of aeaea

by kangeiko



Category: Apothecia (Webcomic)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Horror, Sharing a Body, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: Don’t go into the woods at night.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	on the shores of aeaea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senri/gifts).



> A huge thank you to Libby for betaing duties! More detailed trigger / content warnings are included in the end notes and are mildly spoilery. (It's body-horror, so... pretty much all the content warnings associated with that.)

The hunger wouldn’t go away. She hadn't really counted on that particular side-effect but, then, this hadn't been something she'd thought through all that clearly. She'd had to choose, and so she'd chosen. Now, she was stuck dealing with all the resulting crap. The pain she could cope with (sort of), and the strange night-vision that had suddenly arrived and not gone away. Something very disturbing was happening to her limbs - she was stronger than before, faster than before, _taller_ than before - and, yeah, she was hungry all the damn time.

That was pretty far down on her list of problems, to be fair, but her passenger - she didn’t know what else to call it - didn’t let her put it off too often. Even when she was sacked out on the bed, close to unconscious from exhaustion, her bones aching, it still felt the need to prod at her and remind her that they needed to eat.

Eat. Ha! There was a euphemism. Eating was no longer nibbling a sandwich or even chugging a smoothie. Eating wasn’t ordering take-out or chopping a salad. Eating wasn’t -

 _Jessie,_ it would murmur, usually just as she’d drifted off to sleep, ignoring the hunger pangs, feeling the disquieting twist in her midsection, _Jessie, wake up. We’re hungry, Jessie._

If she’d managed to scavenge successfully in the week, this didn’t pose too much of a problem. She kept whatever food she’d found near the bed and shovelled it mindlessly into her - into their - mouths. She suspected that the food tasted as foul to her passenger as it did to her, but beggars, choosers et cetera. Until she was back in control of her body she was stuck, made unusually and inconveniently helpless, and so whatever was available was what was on the menu. Until the blockade lifted - or until she figured out a way past it - that would have to be enough. Mostly, it was. Processed food and large bags of pet food (full of almost-wholesome goodness and nearly-convincing marrowbone jelly); frozen carcasses and the odd animal caught in a hunter’s trap; even - that one time - a Domino’s delivery bike left briefly unattended outside a nearby bar. (Four large meat feasts, extra cheese.) 

Sometimes, though...

Sometimes, when she woke in the night, her belly tight as a drum, a whisper ghosting across the nape of her neck, and a murmur in her ear -

Sometimes -

_Jessie. Jessie, wake up. We’re hungry, Jessie._

“We’re out of the last of the food,” she muttered, and pulled the threadbare blanket over her head. “We’ll be on the move tomorrow, I’ll get you some then. I’m tired. Go back to sleep.”

_We weren’t sleeping, Jessie. We’re hungry now. Now, Jessie. Wake up, sweet murder bud, little meat sack, little marrow tube, and find us something sweet and juicy to devour. Wake up and feed us, or we shall do it for you._

“You wouldn’t,” she said, ice prickling down her spine, abruptly and painfully awake. She pushed away the blanket and staggered to her feet. “We agreed. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” She'd been caught out in the rain earlier, and her fever was high enough to cause the dampness to evaporate from her skin in almost-visible steam. She ached all over, and yeah, food would probably help with whatever her body was desperately trying to do, but _tomorrow._

_No. We hunger. Feed us. Feed us so you are not consumed, Jessie._

... yeah. Her list of problems, long though it was, definitely had that particular problem sitting at the very top. “When you put it like _that.”_ It was bitterly cold and her socks were still damp from earlier. She crammed her feet back into her sodden boots and wrapped an extra scarf around her neck. Her coat was equally soaked through and she stared at it for a long moment, painfully aware of her protesting limbs and numb feet. She hunted for her gloves and jammed those on as well. “You agreed, though, remember? It was just that once. You _agreed_ it was just that once,” she said again, and hated the plaintive note in her voice. 

(It hadn’t hurt at all, and that had been the scariest part of it: how easy it had felt. How comfortable. How very much like an embrace it had felt to let the thing within her hunt and kill and protect her with an almost-loving ferocity. If she did not eat - and she had to, she knew that, she _had_ to - then her passenger would take over. Her passenger would force food down her throat like a worried parent pouring cough syrup into a colicky infant, ignoring its struggles and fretful screams.)

 _We agreed, yes, agreed to stay quiescent as long as we are fed. We are hungry now, child. Feed me. Feed_ us. 

“I’m not hungry,” she said - a token protest - but she was already shouldering into her wet coat and sliding the handgun into her waistband. Maybe she could find a wild animal, she thought. Or she could find an unattended house in the nearby town she could break into. How close was the nearest farm? Maybe -

 _You are hungry._ There was certainty in the slick-slide of the voice inside her. _Your marrow grows weak, hollowed out and exhausted, empty where it should be full. You must feast. You must -_

“I must not go into the rain, is what I mustn’t do, but we can’t all have what we want, can we?” She paused at the doorway and stared up at the clouds. The moon had waned enough for the light to be faint and silvery, and in her dark parka and cap she wouldn’t immediately stand out. If she took the truck, she could go down to the nearest settlement, park out of sight and -

“I’m going to get you some birdseed one of these days,” she muttered, and got behind the wheel. “Maybe some rabbit food.” That would be good for her, right? Plenty of folic acid. She was pretty certain that was something she was supposed to supplement.

 _Rabbits would be good food, yes,_ her passenger said. _Bring me many, Jessie, and I will gnaw on their bones and -_

“Yeah, yeah.”

_But rabbits aren’t enough for you, little bud. You know what food you need. You know what your body requires._

“Your impersonation of my nana grows more uncanny with every passing day.” She could see a faint glow at the bottom of the mountain; someone lost, maybe? But she’d need to head in the opposite direction to reach the local town, with its perma-closed convenience store and 1.4 churches. They had dog food at the store, she knew that. Large bags of it, for large dogs. They had freezers full of beef, and deer, and sometimes elk. They had -

 _Not enough,_ it whispered, and the ghost of a caress slid across the nape of her neck. Jessie shivered. _The frozen, dead meat, days old and hard to chew, is good for me, yes. I will eat it if you bring me to it. But it’s not what you need, child. It won’t strengthen your epidermis and harden your keratin. It won’t sharpen your teeth, Jessie skin bag, and you need sharp teeth._

“All the better to eat you with,” she muttered, sotto voce. Maybe she could be like Kronos, she thought. Maybe she could wait until the whatever-it-was in her belly finished ripening and she could use her new sharp teeth to - “What does it matter to you, anyway? Beef will keep you fed. What does it matter what I eat?” Her hands hesitated over the ignition. She’d need to get going if she planned to get to the town and back before the weather turned. And it would be sensible to stock up while she could. Really, she should have gone earlier but she’d been hungry - and tired - enough to just want to curl up on her bed and pretend that the rest of the world had gone away, just for a little bit.

_It matters if you hollow out, Jessie. I will not permit it. Not here. Not when it can be so easily fixed._

“Easily?” She did laugh then. “Well. For you, maybe. You’re a monster.” And she was the one contemplating images of Goya and the smear of red across Kronos's mouth, the half-devoured torso hanging limply in his grip. 

_Yesssss,_ it hissed, sweetly sibilant, coiling around her like silk rope. _Yesss, I am a monster, and I will glut myself on your murderous rage, little bud. But not if you are empty and shrunken, eaten from the inside, no._

The light at the bottom of the mountain was moving. Definitely someone on foot. Were they lost? Or on patrol? Were they alone?

_It doesn’t matter. You’re stronger than them. We are stronger, Jessie. We will go to them, and we will feed, and you will feed, yes. You will feed as you’ve fed before._

_Before._ Before, back when she'd first started to suspect that something had gone wrong, that the changes in her were outside of her control. Before, when she'd woken from a fitful sleep to feel movement in her belly and had been too terrified to scream. Before, when her passenger had had to explain her own body to her - her new body, the body she was now moving towards, a body stronger and faster and hungrier than a human could be - much as a parent would to a child entering puberty. 

Before, back when she'd started to hunger for something more robust than roadkill or pet food.

The echo of it surged back. Her stomach rumbled and roiled, and her mouth watered at the remembered scent. The light ahead was someone alone, she was almost sure of it. Someone alone, someone who would be surprised to see her on her own. Someone who’d willingly walk with her up the mountain, who’d smile at the curve of her breasts and the tautness of her legs, at the way the gooseflesh rose on her bare skin. She could already taste the sharp tang of copper in the back of her throat. She’d feed him first - food or herself, it didn’t matter - to get him lax and quiescent beneath her before eating. Before _feeding._

The first time, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Even knowing the stakes, even knowing that - those first few times - her victims had deserved a sticky end, and likely she was doing the world a favour; even so, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to willingly do what she had to.

 _You did it before, child,_ her passenger had crooned, and coiled itself tight about her belly. _You murdered for my meal back when you were just a small sticky bud yourself, sap-green and poisonous. Why do you hesitate? They are just meat, little sapling._

No, she’d said, she’d pleaded, as if there had been a choice. As if - as if -

_Very well. If you cannot feed yourself, then I shall feed us. Attend, child: this is what your body needs._

When she'd woken up an hour or so later on the floor, her belly had been swollen tight from gorging on the iron-rich liver and the tender, moist lungs. The remains of her meal were pooled on the floor beside her, coiled high and still attached at one end to their former owner (the guts, she’d later found, were more firmly attached and a lot more elastic than she had previously given them credit for).

She’d promptly vomited it all back up again, the mess spilling across the floor. Her hands had slipped in the blood as she had retched and sobbed, half-braced against the still-warm thigh of her victim. Of her _meal._

You could go, she’d whispered when she’d quietened down. She’d sat up, trying without much success to clean the muck and blood from her hands. You’re stronger now. You could leave me and you could _go._ Why don’t you? Why do you stay?

 _Because, murder bud,_ and it had wrapped itself more securely around her in an almost-embrace, _I would not leave you on your own._

A monster, yes. But one that made sure she ate, whether she wanted to or not. One that kept her healthy despite the biting winter cold, and that curled around her for warmth as she slept. One that sang songs of sap and springtime slaughter to the thing growing in her belly, as if it could not wait to dandle a grandchild on its monstrous knee.

Her eyes fixed on the flickering light at the bottom of the mountain. Definitely someone on foot. Their light was failing. They'd be grateful for the offer of a lift.

“Maybe it’s a hunter,” she murmured. “He’d be armed.”

 _Armed, legged, yes, yes, delicious,_ her passenger said, practically salivating. _Let’s go and find out. Let’s go and eat him up and warm your marrow, youngling. You need the strength, little meat bag._ It paused. Then, almost kindly, _I_ _could not stop you from budding,_ _but I could make sure you’d survive it, Jessie. I could keep you safe from the gnawing little murder beast in your belly._

Maybe. Chances were the thing inside her would likely devour her one way or the other. Maybe it would be a kindness to let it do so now. Maybe in doing so it would end both of them.

"Did you ever... bud?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Her passenger was silent for a long moment. _Yes. No._ It paused again. _There was not enough meat when I budded._

"And...?" She asked, and immediately regretted it. "Never mind. I know." The image of Kronos, blood and gore smeared across his mouth, his child half-devoured, came back to her. 

Her stomach rumbled. What was the hierarchy, anyway? Her passenger would feed itself if she would not; it would feed her; it would also feed her... bud? (She could not call the thing growing inside her _child_ , any more than she could call a plant cutting a child.) 

She had a sudden image of dozens of baby-Jessies, all growing out of the soil, their tiny green fingers waving at her as they woke, their sharp little teeth glinting in the sunlight.

She couldn't even eat enough to feed herself while she was budding. What would she do once the process was complete and the new-Jessie growing inside her separated? How would she feed two of herself?

_Do not worry, little murder bud. I shall feed us. I shall feed as many of us as there are._

In her mind's eye she could see the sharp teeth of the infant as she brought it to her breast, its eyes glowing gold in the dim light. A mirror of herself as an infant, still attached to her by the umbilical cord, its sharp teeth ready to devour whatever she offered it.

(Fire could still kill it, of course. If she found a crematorium, or a hospital, or someplace else with a big enough incinerator, she could dispose of herself, her passenger, and whatever version of herself she was spawning. She could end the threat of gold-eyed versions of herself; she could snuff out those _sharpsharp_ teeth before they'd fully formed.)

Her passenger was murmuring to itself again. No; not to itself. To the thing in her belly. To the monstrous, hungry thing inside her, to its golden eyes and -

(She could save her world.)

_Jessie. Hurry. We hunger._

She flicked the ignition on.

She’d think it over tomorrow. For now, she had a stranded hunter she needed to invite in from the cold.

*

fin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> 1) The Kronos reference is to [this painting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturn_Devouring_His_Son) by Goya (Saturn devouring his Son).  
> 2) Aeaea is the island that Circe was marooned on.  
> 3) [Plant cutting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cutting_\(plant\)) and other methods of asexual plant reproduction for budding (!) gardeners.
> 
> Trigger/content warnings: (asexual) pregnancy, monstrous pregnancy, monstrous birth, cannibalism (of a sort), gore.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [on the shores of aeaea [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443365) by [platinum_firebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinum_firebird/pseuds/platinum_firebird)




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